


The Body Beautiful

by Mystic_Whim



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:11:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Whim/pseuds/Mystic_Whim
Summary: Starsky offers to pose nude for Hutch, to help him with his art class.Published in the slash S/H zine Venice Place Chronicles Volume IV, Venice Place Press.Venice Place Chronicals Volume IV  was nominated for 2005 Huggy Award, Best Zine.





	The Body Beautiful

 

 

Hutch dragged himself through the door and plopped down on Starsky's couch, casting his coat, books, and supplies aside.

"Hard day at school?" Starsky asked, ready to tease Hutch for his answer. Though he admired him for taking night courses, he would never express that to his partner.

"I'm screwed," Hutch admitted.

"No, wait, don't tell me. Your Trial Advocacy class?"

"No, Art."

Starsky chuckled. "Hutch, with your talent, how could you be screwed in Art class?"

Hutch rubbed his tired eyes. "Believe me, I'm screwed," he said, followed by a sigh. "You know this class is called The Body Beautiful. We're focusing on painting the human body. I have to paint a nude. Well, there's only a small number of models available, and they're all taken."

"How can that be? Don't they have to be sure there's enough models to go around?" Starsky asked.

"No. It's our responsibility to get a model. Some use spouses, girlfriends or boyfriends. The teacher just lines up some available models for those who don't have a volunteer of their own. There just weren't enough."

"Can't you just hire someone? Put an ad in the school paper or something?"

"I've checked every resource I know of. Nobody is available."

"Well, does it have to be a girl?"

Hutch shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It just has to be a nude."

"How about me?"

Hutch looked up in surprise. "You?"

"Yeah." Starsky sat down beside him. "Me. I'd pose for you."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Sure, I would. What's the big deal? I just sit around all day in my birthday suit while you paint, right?"

"Basically. Except I'd just be drawing sketches. I'll paint from the sketches later."

"Okay. Problem solved." Starsky smacked his hands down on his thighs before rising to go to the kitchen for a soft drink. "When do we start?"

~*~*~

Hutch was busily sketching away as Starsky watched from a distance in fascination.

"Lemme see whatcha got so far," Starsky pleaded.

"Absolutely not," Hutch said firmly. "These are preliminary sketches. You don't get to see anything until it's painted and signed."

"Spoil sport," Starsky grumbled. "You know, I always hoped you'd paint me sometime. I kinda thought I'd be dressed, but I always wanted to see how you'd paint me."

Hutch smiled. "Why don't you take a break, Starsk? You must be dying to stretch your legs. I'm just going to work on refining these a bit, so I don't need you to pose."

"God, I thought you'd never ask." Starsky stood and stretched like a cat. "My leg's asleep." Limping slightly, he walked to the windows overlooking Hutch's greenhouse. Drinking a can of Coke he had grabbed on his way, he stood leaning against the window frame, just gazing out the window. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the sunlight on his face. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air the window supplied, he smiled contentedly; pleased that their friendship was close enough, and comfortable enough, that they could feel at ease in such a unique and potentially awkward situation. He felt lucky indeed. "What d'ya say when we're done here we go grab a burger at Huggy's?"

"Tell you what," Hutch replied absently, still sketching away. "After we're done here, I'll buy you a steak. How's that sound?"

Starsky looked over with a huge grin. "A steak? Sounds perfect! What's the occasion?"

"It's customary to pay your models. I figured you'd rather be paid in porterhouse than in cash." Hutch smiled knowingly at his partner.

"Porterhouse! You taking me to Gia's?"

"You pick, Starsk. I owe you big-time for this."

"Hot damn! Dessert,too?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"Anything you want." Hutch added, "I wouldn't mind a slice of their turtle cheesecake myself."

The two plotted what they would order while Hutch continued to work on his sketches. After a while, Starsky came in and sat on the floor to watch TV, until Hutch got his sketches to a point where he was satisfied with them. Finally, they dressed for dinner and headed out of the apartment.

"You're a hell of a model, Starsk. Thanks for helping me out."

~*~*~

"Hutch, I posed for you almost two weeks ago. When you gonna let me see the painting? Didn't you tell me it was due at the end of the month?" He knew Hutch would have to turn it in soon.

Hutch had skirted the issue for days now. Finally, he confessed. "I'm sorry, Starsk. I never did the painting."

"Huh? Why not?"

Embarrassed, Hutch admitted, "I tried, Starsk. I really did. I couldn't seem to make it work. I don't know if it was some kind of creative block, or just because I knew you so well that I had trouble painting you. I finally brought all my work in to the professor and told her about the problems I was having. She made some calls and got a female model to come down and pose for me. I ended up not using the sketches of you."

Starsky was disappointed. "Well, could I at least see the sketches?"

"I'm sorry, Starsky. I didn't keep the sketches. I didn't even think about you wanting to see them." In consolation, he added, "They were pretty rough."

"I would've liked to have seen 'em anyway," he said sadly.

"Tell you what," Hutch consoled, "I'll paint something just for you this weekend. Maybe I can't paint you, but I can at least paint something for you."

That Sunday evening when Starsky arrived at work, he found a special surprise on his locker. Hutch had carefully painted a beautiful likeness of his Torino across the door.

Starsky smiled happily. "Now  _that's_  a painting!"

~*~*~

Starsky whipped the car into the parking lot of the Samuel T. Schroeder Building of Fine Arts. "Right on time, with...four minutes to spare!" he declared happily.

Hutch smiled broadly. "Thanks, pal. I never thought we'd make it on time. I'd hate to miss a class this close to the final."

"Yeah, well, even a couple'a determined punks robbing a 7-11 can't slow me down," he joked.

Climbing out of the Torino, Hutch looked at his watch. "I'll be done about nine. You want to swing back and pick me up then?"

"Actually, I was thinking about coming in with you. Do you think your instructor would mind? I'm kinda curious what your class is like."

"No, she won't mind." Hutch smiled. "You'll probably be bored out of your skull, though."

"You guys stand around painting naked women, and you think I'll be bored?" Starsky grinned lecherously.

"No nudes today," Hutch informed him. "Just a plain old  _clothed_  model. We don't always paint nudes. It depends on the assignment."

"Damn. Just my luck."

Hutch chuckled. "We've been working a lot with light and shadow lately. This will probably be related to that."

They stepped into the studio where the art class was held. There were about two dozen students in the room, and a beautiful blonde teacher. She wore a brightly colored smock, and her hair was pulled back into a long, thick pony tail. Hutch walked directly up to her and introduced her to Starsky.

"Professor Halloway, this is my friend, Dave. Do you mind if he sits in on class today?"

The instructor looked intently at Starsky. "No, of course not. Dave, did you say? You look very familiar. What's your last name?"

"Starsky," he replied. "Dave Starsky. I don't believe we've met. I'm sure I would have remembered someone as lovely as you," he flirted.

"I'm Kate Halloway," she said with a smile. "Actually, your visit couldn't have come at a better time. Could I ask a favor of you, Dave?"

"Sure. What can I do for you?"

"My model for tonight's class canceled out at the last minute. Could I impose on you to sit in for our model? We certainly will compensate you at the standard rate for your time and trouble."

Starsky grinned. "Yeah, I'd be happy to. On the house. What do I have to do?"

"I'll be over here," Hutch interrupted, pointing to an easel a short distance away. Kate directed Starsky to a stool in the center of the room and helped him get situated.

"Okay, class," she addressed her students. "This is Dave. He's a friend of Ken's, and he's agreed to be our model for this evening. We're going to experiment with shadow tonight. I'm going to run down to the storage area and bring in another light. You all get set up, and I'll be right back." She breezed out of the room.

A cute young coed was eyeing Starsky with great interest. "Hey, Dave! What are the chances we could persuade you to take off your shirt for this session?" she called to him.

Starsky laughed. "You want me to take off my shirt?"

"No need to stop there," she replied suggestively.

"You want my shirt off, you're gonna have to come take it off me yourself," he teased back. To his great amusement, the girl jumped to her feet without hesitation. Starsky held up his hand to halt her. "I was just kidding, sweetheart." He put his hand to his chest. "I don't think you really want me to take off this shirt. I've got some pretty nasty scars on my chest and back from when I was shot, and I think you'd find painting them more challenging than you bargained for."

Kate had walked up behind Starsky while he was talking, placing the light fixture on the ground. "Scars?" she asked. "Now I know why you look so familiar to me! You posed for Ken! I recognize you from his paintings." Kate turned to her student. "I don't expect to ever hear you address a model so unprofessionally again."

Starsky ignored the student's reprimand and focused on Hutch, only to see his friend put down his supplies and sink slowly onto his stool. The expression on his face was very sober, and he had a look of defeat and resignation about him.

"Uh, yeah, I posed for Ken," Starsky answered Kate.

"He did such a wonderful job on those paintings," she exclaimed. "I bet you were thrilled at how well they came out."

_They?_  Starsky forced a smile. "Actually, I've been out of town for a while, and I never got to see the finished work," he lied. "But I'm sure he did a great job."

"Would you like to see them? I could take you down to the art museum after class and-."

"No!" Hutch interrupted. "I, uh, I'd prefer to show Dave the paintings myself," he explained.

"Of course you would," Kate smiled. "You'll have to tell me what he thought of them," she suggested to Hutch. She turned back to Starsky and complained, "I've been trying to talk him into putting the paintings in an art show downtown next week at my friend's studio, but he keeps putting me off. See if you can talk him into it. They're really quite beautiful, and this would be a terrific opportunity for him."

"I'll do my best," Starsky responded. He glanced back at Hutch, but the other man wouldn't meet his gaze.

The class dragged on endlessly, both men lost in their thoughts. Hutch didn't speak during the rest of the period, and worked straight through the short break offered. Starsky kept his distance, confused about Hutch's behavior and wanting to hold off questioning him about it until they were alone. To Starsky's frustration, the flirtatious coed that had volunteered to remove his shirt, cornered him during the break.

"So, Dave. What's it like, getting shot?" she questioned, her eyes glittering with interest. "Was it real painful?"

Not wishing to offend the girl, Starsky shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I don't really remember much about the shooting itself. It's kind of a blur, and I only remember bits and pieces. Recovery was pretty painful, though."

"Did you keep the bullets?" she asked excitedly.

Starsky cringed. "No, I didn't want any more souvenirs." He glanced around for someone to rescue him from this. "I've got plenty of souvenir scars."

Embarrassed by the questions, Starsky did his best to deflect the more invasive ones without resorting to rudeness, until he finally managed to drag himself away from her just as the break was about to come to an end. Hutch was still absorbed in his painting and made no moves to clear up Starsky's confusion or concern. Reluctantly, Starsky resumed his position in the center of class, resigned to wait for Hutch to clear up the matter in his own time.

Finally, the class came to an end. Kate called Starsky over to where she stood beside Hutch's easel. Hutch stood back silently, looking desolate, as she excitedly waved his partner over.

"Come look at this, Dave. Every time Ken paints you, he puts such heart into it. Isn't this lovely?" 

Starsky walked around the easel to get a good look at Hutch's painting. Whereas the other students had painted Starsky smiling, as he had posed, Hutch's painting showed a depth in the expression the others had missed. In his painting, Starsky's eyes looked shadowed with conflicting emotions, and he did not smile. He looked full of anticipation and concern, as he stared back at the artist with abused trust in his eyes. So much of Starsky's personality had been captured in the painting that it glowed with life, just as the subject himself did.

This was the first time Starsky had seen any of Hutch's work with himself as the subject, and he was amazed at the level of talent he saw in it. "Wow, Hutch," he said breathlessly. "I always knew you were talented, but I didn't know you could make me look so...so...."

"Beautiful," Kate supplied quietly. Starsky looked up at her, swallowing hard before he looked at Hutch. She touched Starsky on the arm and left the two men alone.

Hutch had put away the last of the supplies and picked up his sketch pad, tucking it under his arm. His voice was soft. "Come on," he appealed, giving a nod toward the door. "I'll take you to see those paintings now." Starsky reluctantly peeled himself away from the easel to follow his friend.

"The art museum will be closed by the time we get there, won't it?" Starsky asked as they walked out of the building.

"They're not in the museum downtown," Hutch explained. "The art museum on campus. It's that building you passed on the way in here, with the fountain out in front."

Starsky jammed his hands into his coat pockets. "How come you lied about painting me, Hutch?"

Hutch was silent for a few steps before he answered. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Starsk, but I think when you see the paintings you'll understand." Neither spoke during the rest of the walk.

They made the short trek across the lawn and up the steps to the Robert S. Haggerty Museum of Art. Inside, there was soft classical music playing and lively mobiles hanging from the ceiling. It was a pleasant and inviting atmosphere, unlike the art museums Starsky had been forced to visit as a kid. Students milled about, with backpacks full of books slung over their shoulders, chatting amiably. It was casual there, and lacking the snooty air that had turned him off as a child.

Hutch led him back to an area reserved for displaying the artwork of the students of the college. There were only a few people in this section, with the majority of the visitors in the main wing with the established artists' work. Hutch walked across the room, with Starsky following, then suddenly turned around and looked up at the wall behind them. Starsky turned around to follow his gaze.

On the wall, hung four portraits, all of Starsky. Introducing the artwork was a sign that read:

_Art 412, The Body Beautiful_

_Instructor: Professor Kathleen Halloway_

_Artist: Kenneth Hutchinson_

_A series of four nudes_

_Series Title: Illicit Tempest_

The sight of those four paintings was a jolt to Starsky. The first painting was the work he had intentionally posed for. He was stretched out upon Hutch's couch, one arm lying on the arm rest, the other draped over the back. His legs were stretched along the length of the couch, with one leg drawn up. He had a look of confidence, and a rascally twinkle in his eyes. The way he held his head and the set of his shoulders spoke of self **-** assuredness, and intense sexual desire. Surprisingly, Hutch had painted him fully aroused, a condition he did not display as he posed for the artist.

Starsky's eyebrows raised. He looked at Hutch and stated with amusement, "I don't remember being that happy to see you when I posed for you."

Hutch couldn't help smiling in embarrassment. "Artistic license," he offered in explanation.

Starsky moved down to the next painting. In this one, he was standing naked before an open window, his curly hair dancing lightly in the breeze. The sun lit his blissful face, his lips parted, his eyes closed to the brightness as if savoring the warmth on his face. One hand was braced on the frame of the window, the other on his heart. His body glowed in the sunlight, looking positively electric with sensuality. Starsky looked as if he had just stepped from his lover's bed, still reverberating with pleasure. He remembered standing in the greenhouse window during the break from posing for Hutch, and wondered if he had sketched him then.

The third painting was of Starsky kneeling, sitting on his heels, his back to the artist. His hands were at the top of his thighs, as one would put their hands upon their hips if standing. Every muscle was defined, showing the fitness and physical strength of the subject. Starsky's scars from Gunther's bullets were clearly detailed, but instead of being the harsh, angry wounds Starsky had seen in the mirror, these looked to be almost artistically tattooed across his back. They flowed with the curves of his muscles and danced down his skin in an asymmetrical accent. He knew the placement and shape of those scars was correct, yet the perception of these scars, how Hutch felt about them, was so vividly interpreted in this work. Equally vivid was the artist's appreciation for the subject's rear end, which looked positively inviting in this portrayal.

By this time, anyone viewing the art would have easily been convinced the artist was quite enamored with, and physically attracted to, the subject he painted. However, had there been any doubt, it would be completely erased by the fourth and final painting. Hutch had depicted him on his bed, on his knees. He was bent forward, his hands gripped high on Hutch's headboard, his head thrown back in a lusty expression of rapture. It appeared to be a moment stolen from a sexual encounter, full of erotic excitement and loving passion. It sent goose bumps down Starsky's spine.

"Starsk?" Hutch quietly coaxed.

Starsky whirled on him, his eyes dark and intense. He extended his arm, pointing to the final painting. "That belongs to me," he said in a deadly voice, cold with fury. "It's mine. Bill me if you want, but that's mine. Go ahead and display it in a museum or art show. Hell, you can hang it in the Louvre for all I care. But you can't get rid of it. You can't sell it, you can't give it away, you can't destroy it. It's  _mine_. It belongs to me. Ya got it?" he spit out, not even registering the devastation on Hutch's face, or the haunted look in the eyes staring back at him.

"I got it," Hutch whispered. "It's yours."

Satisfied, Starsky released Hutch from his penetrating eyes. He turned back to the artwork, looking over each piece. Then he stepped back, distancing himself from the wall. This time, he appeared to be taking in the view of the four paintings together, instead of individually.

Starsky was stunned by what he saw. His mouth was snapped shut, the muscles in his jaw and throat tense. Shoulders back and head held high, fists still jammed in his pockets, he looked poised for a fight.

"Starsk, please...about all...this. I can see...I can tell-"

Without looking at Hutch, Starsky interrupted him, "What about the sketches? Do you still have them?"

Hutch handed him the art pad he had brought with him. Starsky slowly flipped through the numerous sketches Hutch had drawn of him that weekend, some he knowingly posed for, some he had been unaware of. He stopped when he saw a sketch similar to the fourth painting. It had originally been a sketch of him innocently changing the channels on Hutch's TV. Kneeling before the TV, he had rested his left hand on the top of the set, while changing channels with his right. Hutch had been behind him, getting a wicked view of his backside and, it appeared, getting a healthy dose of inspiration. The only thing completely absent was the raw sexual hunger in Starsky's face as he looked back to speak to Hutch while he sketched.

"Can I have this?" he asked Hutch.

Hutch carefully tore the sketch from the pad and rolled it into a tube to keep it from being creased. He handed it to Starsky, who gently and protectively tucked it into his jacket. Once again, Starsky's eyes returned to the portraits on the wall.

After reflecting on the work for several moments, Starsky took a deep breath, then stalked from the room.

Hutch trotted after him. As he paused on the top of the entrance steps, he called after his friend who was already walking quickly across the grass toward the parking lot.

"Starsky?"

Starsky stopped and turned back to Hutch. He waited.

Hutch pleaded, "Aren't you going to respond? Aren't you going to say anything?"

"No," Starsky said flatly.

Hutch walked up to him, distress written all over his face. "Starsk, please... Say  _something_."

Starsky glanced around the grounds. Students wandered about, enjoying the lovely night.

"Not now," he said firmly. "Later. In private." He walked away, still tense with bottled emotion. Hutch jogged to catch up, his own nerves frayed raw. In silence, they walked back to their car.

~*~*~

Neither spoke on the way home. Hutch wished Starsky would say something,  _anything_ , to give him a clue to his feelings about what he had learned. But Starsky remained silent, staring straight ahead, too lost in his own chaos to acknowledge his concerned partner beside him.

When Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place and waited, engine still running, Hutch climbed out slowly. He leaned down to the open window, asking, "Are you coming up?"

"Not right now," Starsky answered. "I'll come back. Later."

Hutch nodded, stepping back from the car. Starsky drove away, leaving Hutch to his empty apartment, his head filled with questions and concerns.

Starsky had concerns of his own, however, as he drove toward his apartment with the painted images still powerfully clear in his mind. He recalled how lucky he had felt at the time he posed for the paintings-that he and Hutch were such close friends they could feel at ease in the odd circumstances. It was ironic he would feel such comfort in his nudity, while Hutch was struggling with desires and fantasies about him.

On some level, he felt deeply touched and flattered, but the revelation had been so unsettling, he knew he had to sort through his conflicting emotions before confronting Hutch. As he pulled up in front of his apartment building, the final painting loomed boldly in his mind's eye.  Once again, Starsky felt a flush of goose bumps dance across his skin.  _"Damn, Hutch, you really know how to shake a guy up."_

~*~*~

To pass the time until his friend returned, Hutch took a long steaming shower, then pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He brewed a pot of herbal tea, trying to find a way to relax and find a measure of peace after an alarming evening, but to no avail.

It was hours later when he heard a knock at his door. He pulled the door open, wishing his partner had simply walked in unannounced, or used his key as he normally would. This sudden return of etiquette did not bode well.

"You want a beer?" Hutch offered.

Starsky held up a paper sack. "I brought this. I was gonna get beer, but this sounded better."

Hutch opened the sack, surprised to see a bottle of very expensive brandy in his hand. He had to admit, this did sound much better than a beer right now. "Yeah. I'll get the glasses."

While Hutch busied himself with the drinks, Starsky took off his coat and gun, hanging them in Hutch's closet.

Returning with the snifters of brandy, Hutch approached Starsky, who was standing in the middle of the room with his back to him. "Here," he said quietly, offering the glass.

Starsky took the drink, but didn't lift the glass to his lips. He kept his back to Hutch. "Tell me something," he began. "Would ya ever have told me how you felt, if Halloway hadn't recognized me from the paintings?"

Hutch sat his glass down on the kitchen table, no longer wanting the amber drink. "No."

Starsky's head dropped. He slowly turned to face Hutch, shoulders slumped. "You'd rather lie, live in secrecy and betray my trust, rather than admit you want me?"

"Oh, come off it, Starsky! You know damn well why I lied about the paintings, and why I kept my feelings to myself!" He grabbed the glass and downed a hearty swallow. "I nearly lost you once, thanks to Gunther. It nearly killed me, too. I wasn't about to risk losing you again. And not like  _this_!"

"Lose me? What's the matter with you? Is that what you think? You'd tell me how you felt and I'd just chuck the whole friendship and write you off as some kind of freak?"

Hutch gave a humorless laugh. "Freak. That's just great, buddy." He finished off the last of his brandy and stalked into the kitchen to pour more.

"I can't believe this!" Starsky stormed after him, depositing his glass on the table. "That  _is_  what you think!" He smacked Hutch's bare arm with the back of his hand. "Tell me this. On what evidence do you base this assumption, huh?"

"Evidence? Look how you acted tonight. You're obviously pissed off."

Fuming, Starsky barked, "You're damn right I'm pissed off! But not because of how you  _feel_. I'm pissed off that you lied to me. I had to find out how you felt from a painting, and you had to be  _forced_  into it on top of it. To make matters worse, your whole class knew how you felt about me before I did, and so did half the campus, thanks to your art show. I'm pissed off at  _me_  for not seeing how you felt. And I'm pissed off that the idea of wanting me is so awful you keep it hidden like some big ugly secret."

"Don't give me that, Starsky. How I feel isn't exactly welcomed news." Hutch's eyes bore into his.

"How the hell would you know, huh, Hutch? You never gave me a chance!" Seeing the deep sadness in Hutch's eyes, Starsky's features softened. He tried again in a gentler tone. "Look, why don't you just tell me now. What's going on with you?"

Hutch shook his head sadly. "Not much to tell. I think the paintings said it all."

"How long've you felt like this?"

"Since the shooting," he replied, then shook his head. "No. Forever. Shit, I don't know!" He sank into a kitchen chair, his head hanging. "I think I've been attracted to you since the beginning, but I pushed it aside-denied it. But when you were shot, all these feelings for you came to the surface, and I couldn't ignore it anymore." He looked up to Starsky. "I don't want to feel like this. I wish I could change, but I can't. I can't teach my heart what to feel."

Starsky's brow furrowed in frustration. "Nobody's telling you ya have to change. We'll deal with this-"

"No," Hutch interrupted. " _I'll_  deal with this. I didn't even want you to  _know_ , let alone put you in a position where you have to  _deal_  with it. It's my problem, not yours. I was fool enough to fall in love with you, I can sure as hell figure out how to cope with it without making you deal with it."

Starsky's head shot up. "In love?!"

Hutch looked at him in alarm. To his great surprise, Starsky looked almost relieved. "What, Starsk? Does that surprise you?"

Chuckling nervously, Starsky replied, "All night I was thinking maybe we could, um, try it your way, but I didn't want it to be about some kind of sexual curiosity."

Hutch's jaw dropped. 

Continuing, he explained, "But if you're talking  _in_   _love_ , well, I, uh, that's different, you know?" He shrugged. "You know me; when it comes to my emotions, I tend to give a hundred percent, whether it's love or hate or whatever. I wouldn't want to touch this if you're just talking about experimenting. But if you're talking love, I think I could...." His voice trailed off as he noticed the shocked expression on Hutch's face. "What? I thought you wanted this?"

"Starsky. What are you suggesting?"

Flustered, Starsky gathered his thoughts before responding. "I'm suggesting we add sex to the mix." He gestured a finger between them. "You and me. Making love."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Hutch was dumbfounded. "We  _can't_! You're my best friend. My partner. Do you know what kind of risk that is?"

Dropping his hand, it smacked the table with a loud slap. "Your  _best friend_? Your  _partner_?" he scoffed. "Hell, I'm  _more_  than that!"

Hutch stared at his partner, awash in admiration. In a quiet voice, he replied, "You're right. You are."

Satisfied with the answer, Starsky nodded once. "Damn right. To hell with labels. You can't categorize what we are to each other." Starsky tentatively placed his hand atop Hutch's. He gave it an affectionate squeeze and proceeded to stroke the top with his thumb. "We're not going to do anything to hurt our friendship, or our partnership, because it's too important to both of us. I love you, Hutch. More than I've ever loved anybody. If you want this, I'm with you."

Exhaling a whoosh of air, Hutch contemplated his offer. "You've thought about this? You're not just acting impulsively?"

"How could I  _not_  think about it? It's all I've been able to think about since the museum. You painted me a picture, remember?" Hutch smiled at his turn of the phrase, but still looked wary.

Starsky stood and poured his friend another drink. "Hutch, are you sure you want this? I tell you I'm with you in this, and you don't seem too enthusiastic. Keep this up and you'll give me a complex," he kidded, handing him his glass. 

Hutch looked up at him, then deposited the glass on the table and stood so he could look Starsky straight in the eye. In a strong, steady voice he confessed, "I want you so bad I can't even keep my desires out of my art. I want you so bad it's all I can do to keep myself from pulling you into my arms and kissing the hell out of you. Do you really need to ask if I want this?"

"So why don't ya?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Geez, and you're supposed to be the brains of this partnership." His left had shot out and cupped the back of Hutch's head, pulling him in. "Kiss me, dammit!" Then he pressed his lips to Hutch's. 

 Hutch gasped in surprise, then wrapped his arms tightly around Starsky, pulling him firmly against his body. A low moan escaped Hutch. He couldn't kiss him deep enough, couldn't hold him tight enough, couldn't feel enough of that hot skin.

Starsky pulled back from the kiss, panting and reeling with desire. "Holy shit," he whispered. "Are you as turned on as I am?" he asked, grinning at his equally shocked partner.

A wicked grin crept across Hutch's lips. With one hand, he reached around Starsky and pulled him back, grinding his hips to his own. Starsky was pulled into Hutch's body, tightly wrapped in his arms and smothered by a kiss that quite possibly could bring him to his knees.

"Hutch," Starsky gasped, the first time Hutch gave him a chance. Hutch loosened his hold, allowing Starsky to pull away slightly.

Starsky leaned back, still encircled in Hutch's strong arms, and studied the face of the man before him. He reached one hand up and grazed his cheek, letting his fingers feather into the soft blond strands of Hutch's hair.

Hutch closed his eyes and sighed, then turned to nuzzle into the gentle hand. He reached up and held the hand against his face.

Starsky affectionately stroked his cheek with his thumb. "You know, you kiss pretty good...for a freak."

A laugh bubbled up from deep within Hutch. "You kissed me first, pal. I think you qualify."

Eyes sparkling, Starsky grinned. "You okay now?"

"Me? No. I'm on hormone overload and I'm confused as hell. You?"

He laughed. "No, I mean about us. You trust me now?"

Hutch became serious. With loving eyes he affirmed, "I always did trust you. I just didn't trust that life could be this good to me."

"Life  _isn't_  that good to you." Starsky reached down and took his hand. "But I will be." He pulled Hutch toward the couch, gathering up the two brandy snifters in his free hand along the way.

"Starsky?" Hutch stopped, halting his friend as well.

Starsky turned and stepped close to his partner, who now hesitated in the middle of the room.

 "Something wrong?"

Hutch smiled nervously. "No, I'm just surprised. I didn't know you would be okay with...this." He gestured a hand between them.

Starsky smiled warmly. "You scared, Hutch?"

 "I am scared," Hutch admitted. "But not of you."

"Of what then?"

Hutch let his eyes rove over Starsky's body, from head to foot. He looked at Starsky with a helpless nervousness in his eyes and a sweet smile on his lips as he confessed, "Unfamiliar territory."

Starsky smiled in understanding. "Not so unfamiliar. Nothing you've never seen before. You know how it all works." Hutch chuckled in response.

He led Hutch to the couch and pushed him down onto it, then bent down to kiss him tenderly. Hutch laid back on the couch, savoring the long delicious kiss, when he felt something cold splash onto his chest. He jumped and tried to get up, but Starsky pinned his shoulder down.

"Looks like I spilled," Starsky said with false innocence. "Let me get that for you." He lowered his head and began to lick up the brandy he had purposely spilled on Hutch's bare chest. He continued to "spill" more on his chest and belly, leisurely licking up the liquid.

Rising from his task, Starsky took both their glasses and set them aside. He kissed him again, then stood to remove his shirt, which he cast aside wantonly. Next, the pants went, flung over to the shirt with a dramatic kick of his foot. He grinned down at Hutch, who was enjoying the show. "You're a little overdressed for this party, aren't ya?"

Hutch's darkened eyes twinkled devilishly. "Perhaps you could remedy that for me."

Starsky did just that, freeing Hutch of his clothing. He looked from his own erection to Hutch's, then asked, "Why don't we introduce the little guys and see if they play well together?" Starsky slid up Hutch's body, both men charged by the incredible feel of their bodies melding together. Finally, their lips met again. Starsky whispered into Hutch's kiss, "I love the portraits you painted."

"You liked them?" Hutch smiled. "All of them?"

"God, yes." Starsky was still lightly kissing his partner. "You made me look  _good_!" 

"I made you look sexy," Hutch corrected. "Sensual. Erotic." Then he added, "I only painted what I saw."

Starsky raised one eyebrow. "I don't think that's entirely true. You did paint me with a hard on, remember?"

Hutch chuckled. "I didn't say I saw it all at the same time." He slid one hand up to wrap it firmly around Starsky's erection. "Let's see how accurate I was."

"Pretty damned accurate," Starsky laughed. He stopped his kisses and looked Hutch in the eyes. "You really should put the paintings in that show Halloway mentioned. You're very talented, Hutch. Your work should be seen."

"I can't do that." Hutch shook his head. "That's a public showing, Starsk. It's one thing to show them in a campus art museum. It's quite another to show them downtown in a public art studio. People could see them."

"So what? Isn't that the point? To have them seen?"

"No, I mean people  _we know_  could see them!"

Starsky smiled. "Good. I'm a lucky man if other people see me the way you do."

The comment touched Hutch. "You never cease to amaze me." He opened his hand to include both their shafts in his stimulating grip. Kissing Starsky passionately, his tongue thrust deeply into his mouth. Starsky groaned with desire.

Starsky pulled from the kiss and began to place slow wet kisses down Hutch's neck and chest. Brushing his cheek against an erect nipple, he elicited a moan from his sensitive partner. His hands roamed over Hutch's sides and abdomen. "You're gorgeous, Hutch. Wish I could paint you-show you how beautiful you are to me." He took the hand Hutch had used to stoke them both and placed a worshiping kiss in the palm. "You feel so good." As he kissed Hutch's hand, Starsky grazed his own caressing hand over Hutch's erection and his sac, learning his body, electrifying the man's senses. "Oh, yeah, you feel  _so_  good."

Turning so they were on their sides, Hutch clasped Starsky's hand, stilling it. "Together," he whispered. "I want to feel us together. I liked that."

With a grin, Starsky pulled himself closer to Hutch, their foreheads pressed together, their erections once again aligned. He wrapped his hand around them both, letting his thumb graze over Hutch's glistening glans, swirling in the moisture at its tip.

Hutch gasped. He joined his hand with Starsky's, both hands corralling the colliding organs until it became too difficult to maintain the mutual stroke. Starsky withdrew his hand to surrender to Hutch's larger grasp, and instead fondled the sac that had enthralled him before. Hutch hummed, then pulled Starsky into a forceful kiss, thrilling to Starsky's whimpered response.

Hutch stroked them both as they continued to kiss with abandon. Starsky's impassioned moans were exciting him, each sound tingling to his core. His scent intoxicated him. The feel of his skin against his, the feel of his shaft in his hand, the exquisite pleasure of their shafts against each other, and Starsky's tantalizing hand rolling against his testicles, all served to hurtle him to a level of passion and adoration stronger than anything he had ever known.

Starsky was flying on the same rush of intensity. He held Hutch so tightly, Hutch knew he was as completely overwhelmed by the love they both offered, and that made him feel so cherished. Then he heard what he'd long craved to hear Starsky say. "I love you, Hutch. God, I love you."

Hutch was taken over the edge by his words. He came in an explosive rush, collapsing into Starsky's chest. Releasing their cocks, he ran his hand up Starsky's belly and chest, into the warm liquid that baptized his body.

Returning his slick hand to Starsky's hard shaft, he stroked him lovingly. "Tell me how you like to be touched," he whispered into his ear.

"You're doing just fine," Starsky panted. "Don't change a damn thing."

Kissing Hutch's hair and forehead, Starsky stroked the soft strands that clung to the man's damp neck. Murmuring loving expressions, he softly pressed his lips to Hutch's temple. "My darling, my love." He was nearly breathless.

Hutch kissed Starsky's ear, his tongue dipping in and skating along the edges. As he did so, he grabbed Starsky's ass and pulled their bodies tight together, his other hand still tantalizing the expanding shaft.

The pleasure rippled around Starsky until it screamed through his body in a blinding onslaught.

Feeling his body tense, Hutch grabbed him, clutching him tightly in his embrace. "I love you, love you, love you...."

Starsky threw his arms around Hutch and clung to him, burying his face in his chest. Hutch's declarations of love were replaced with small, gentle kisses that fell upon Starsky's hair, his forehead, his face. As Starsky slowly floated back to earth, he sighed happily, a satisfied smile on his lips.

When Starsky finally recovered, he gently slipped from Hutch's arms.

"Hey," Hutch murmured. "Where ya going?"

"Don't go away." Starsky grinned. "Be right back."

"I'll keep your place warm," Hutch replied, closing his eyes blissfully.

Starsky went to the bathroom, returning a short time later with a very warm, wet washcloth and a towel. He gently ran the cloth over Hutch's skin, washing away the results of their passion. Once his task was complete, he slipped back onto the couch into Hutch's arms, his back against Hutch's chest, spooned lovers basking in their peace.

Hutch held Starsky to his chest with his left arm, his right hand softly caressing his back, lightly skimming over the scars in a loving touch. He assumed his partner had fallen asleep, until he heard his soft sigh.

"Every time you hold me like this, you make me feel so loved," Starsky quietly stated.

Hutch smiled. "Every time? When were we ever like this?"

 "Remember when the glass shattered in the microwave?"

Hutch froze. The image those words conjured up threw him right back to another time. "I remember," he managed to croak out. It had been when Starsky had just returned home from the hospital, and Hutch was heating some water for tea in the microwave. He let it go too long, and the super heated water had shattered the glass measuring cup. The explosive sound had woken Starsky, who cried out in such pain and terror that the memory of it still had the power to devastate Hutch. Starsky had been thrown right into a full-blown flashback of the shooting.

"I freaked out, and you crawled into bed with me, calmed me down."

"I remember," Hutch repeated, his voice even softer than before.

"You wrapped your arms around me and held me, just like this." Then he added, "Only tighter."

Still upset by the memory, Hutch clutched Starsky tighter, his arms and legs wrapped around him like a cocoon. He laid his head upon Starsky's shoulder.

"Yeah, like that." Starsky snuggled into the embrace, smiling. "You held me like that until I pulled myself together. You never let go."

Hutch gave him a squeeze.

"I remember I was laying there feeling safe, and loved. I just knew I never wanted to be anyplace else. You held me all night. I never even slept; I just laid there, soakin' it all up, never wanting it to end."

"Oh, Starsk," he choked out. Loosening his arms, he said, "Come 'ere." 

Starsky turned in his arms, wrapping himself around Hutch, feeling the embrace returned ten-fold. "I love you," he whispered. "Always will."

~*~*~

The next morning, Hutch awoke to an amorous Starsky. The man was squirming in his arms, kissing his chest, neck, and jaw; his hands dancing over his skin. As soon as Hutch opened his eyes, Starsky pounced on him with a hungry kiss.

Hutch was instantly hard. He shifted on the couch, ending up on top of Starsky, his tongue down his throat. Starsky giggled and threw his arms around his neck. They kissed and delighted in each other's arms like a couple of lovesick teens until the passion overcame them both.

Pulling away from the kiss, Hutch suggested hoarsely, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"Nuh, uh." Starsky shook his head. "I don't wanna move. I like it right here."

Hutch studied him with a loving gaze. "I want to feel you inside me, Starsk. I've got stuff in the bedroom that'll make it easier. Come on. I'll put it on you."

Surprised, Starsky let Hutch pull away and lead him to the bedroom. "You ever do this before?" he asked.

"With a man? No. With a woman, yeah." He pulled open the nightstand drawer and found what he was looking for. He handed it to Starsky.

Starsky put some of the gel on his fingertips and rolled his thumb against the pads of his fingers. He put a larger dollop of the slick material onto his fingers and promptly wrapped his coated fingers around Hutch's cock, completely unnerving him with his tantalizing touch. "Show me," Starsky ordered, slapping the tube into Hutch's hand.

"Starsk!" Hutch exclaimed in surprise. "You'd let me...?"

"Let you!" Starsky laughed. "I  _want_  this!" Softer, he confessed, "Hutch, I already gave you my heart. Now I wanna give you my body."   

"Starsky...."

"Show me," he ordered again.

Hutch reached out to touch his arm, unsure.

Starsky squeezed Hutch's arm and grinned lecherously. "I want you to do me like the painting." He crawled across the bed, reaching up to grasp the headboard. Knowing his pose was like that of the painting, he looked back to Hutch, giving him an eager leer.

Hutch emitted a deep growl of desire, scrambling after him on the bed. "You are a satyr, Starsky!" 

He wrapped his body around Starsky's, letting his slickened cock slide between the cheeks of that luscious ass. "Damn, what you do to me!" he gasped into his ear.

Starsky laughed at him. "Fuck me, Hutch," he taunted.

Hutch laughed now, too, burying his face into the back of Starsky's neck. "Easy, partner," Hutch warned. "I want to do this right. You aren't ready." Before Starsky could argue the point, he added, "Your  _body_  isn't ready. But I'm going to take care of that."

Pulling Starsky from the headboard and turning him so they could be face to face, he kissed him gently. "Let me suck you off," he murmured. "You need to be relaxed."

Starsky stroked Hutch's arms. "No. I want to come with you inside me. We can do that, can't we?"

Hoarsely, Hutch replied, "Okay then. But if I'm hurting you, we stop."

"You won't hurt me," Starsky said knowingly, turning back to his former position.

Hutch did his best to ready his partner, with his tongue and with his fingers, until Starsky was half crazed with need from the foreplay. Hutch finally situated himself behind him. "Are you sure?" he asked a final time.

"Hutch, please!"

At his partner's urging, Hutch pressed forward carefully. Starsky released the headboard, burying his face in his arms against the mattress.

Hutch pushed deeper, stopping when he felt the shudder run through his partner's body, wrapping his arms around Starsky. "Are you okay?" Hutch asked.

Starsky winced as a shot of pain jolted through him, not quite prepared for the intensity of it. "Just hold me a sec," he implored.

Alarmed, Hutch pressed his chest to him, enfolding him, careful not to hurt him further.

"Starsky...." Hutch slid his hands to the man's hips, concern etching his voice. "I'll pull out-" He was interrupted by Starsky pushing back into him, taking the rest of his length in one thrust.

Startled by the move and blinded by the pleasure radiating through him, Hutch enveloped Starsky in his arms. "Jesus! Don't  _do_  that! Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," Starsky finally exhaled. "The pain's passed. Don't you stop; I'm not gonna break here."

"I won't," Hutch assured him. He pulled back and thrust again, gently. He continued, long and slow, stroking Starsky's cock with his hand as he moved. In time, Starsky gave a little cry.

"Ohhh, man!" he cried. "What the hell'd ya do?"

Hutch grinned. He thrust again, repeating the move, as Starsky moaned in pleasure. "Does that feel good, Starsk? Talk to me."

"Oh, yesssssss," Starsky blurted. "It's good, Hutch...damn good."

Hutch maintained the rhythm with his hand, as he matched the rhythm with his body, gradually quickening both. Starsky grew even larger in his hand, and he felt the head flare.

Starsky's legs were trembling, his breath coming in pants. He tried to hang on, not wanting the moment to end. "I love you, Hutch," he gasped with a final breath, "I always will." Then he gave in to the glorious release.

Hutch felt him let go, felt his body claimed by the orgasm, and he gripped him tighter. "Love you, too," he echoed. "You're  _mine_...mine..." A moment later, he found his release, and the two men collapsed onto the bed.

Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms, spooning into him, murmuring gentle endearments.

Starsky sighed. He had never felt safe and protected in someone's arms before Hutch. This realization filled him with a warmth and comfort that had always seemed elusive to him. "You're mine now," he whispered, content.

A peaceful smile on his lips, Hutch kissed his hair. "Yes, I am."

_The End_

 


End file.
